


Indulge Me

by slippery_soak



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Because I want you to FEEL it, Excessive use of italics, Gen, Humiliation kink, Masturbation, Omorashi, Panties, Panty Kink, Shameless Piss Porn, Tony Stark in Panties!, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 05:23:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20688200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slippery_soak/pseuds/slippery_soak
Summary: Investor meetings are boring AF. Tony comes prepared, armed with a whole lot of caffeine and his favorite sexy underthings.(It doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going...)





	Indulge Me

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of all the Tony Stark + Meetings + Desperation fics that have come before this one and that will surely come after this one—I pay homage. 
> 
> (Don’t act like you don’t know *which* fics I’m talking about.)
> 
> Alright. Some obligatory notes. Uh, spoiler—Tony drinks a lot of coffee and tries to make it through a morning of meetings without peeing in his pretty, pretty panties. So if that’s not your thing, please back away quickly. If it is your thing, please also note that Tony has a mild humiliation kink, and maybe does a bit of kink-shaming himself here, but nothing to the point where I feel it’s triggering or needs tagged. If you’re still reading this, kudos to you! You may also want to check out the end notes where I talk about taking prompts! 
> 
> This shit is unbeat’d. Enjoy.

Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist.

Tony Stark was eccentric. Over-the-top, in all the best/worst ways. He was childish and self-indulgent and brilliant and lazy and industrious and over-zealous. _Tony Stark: Work Hard, Play Hard_. That was the title on his last glossy GQ cover story. 

Tony hadn’t bothered to read it, but Pepper had assured him that it was well done. Classy. Full of thinly-veiled half-truths that would more than satiate the rumor mills and keep the public interest in S.I. going for at least another six months—until the next Avengers catastrophe, or Patented Stark Public Meltdown. Equal bets on which would come first. 

Tony was getting too old for this shit. 

Meetings. Investor meetings. The absolute worst. He had been at this for hours, shuffled between boardrooms, nodding absently at Pepper’s discretion, shaking hands. So many fucking hands. And knocking back his fifth—Jesus Christ—his _fifth_ latte of the morning. 

Yep. He was definitely getting too old for this shit. 

He wanted desperately to be back in his workshop, music blaring, wrench in hand, sighing exasperatedly at Dum-E’s poorly timed “helpful” advances. But as Pepper so patiently explained to him just yesterday afternoon, he had duties. Specific quarterly duties. As in _four_ times a year so suck it up, man-up, and get your ass out to Malibu before the sun rises or so help me Tony... 

Well. The flight out was nice at least. It gave him a chance to test out the new bio-capabilities he’d upgraded on the Mark X. The new interface was even more seamless than the old, and he was feeling particularly proud of himself. So proud, in fact, that it seemed perfectly reasonable that he could—should—reward himself with some much needed indulgences while he was out here. One specific indulgence, in particular. 

Indulgence, of course, was a spectacularly civilized way of saying _kink_. And this one particular kink of Tony’s—fuck, it was a good one. 

Tony cleared his throat and shifted in his seat at the conference table. Pepper threw a pointed warning glance his way before turning her attention back to the presentation at the front of the room. Tony wasn’t entirely sure what was being discussed this hour. He thought perhaps something to do with smartphone data security? Which was laughable. He was pretty sure his life was turning into one mind-numbingly long episode of _Shark Tank_ at this point. He really couldn’t be bothered to pay attention any longer. 

At that moment, all the attention he could muster was trained on two particular points of convergence instead. One: the increasingly maddening feeling he was experiencing as the fabric of his suit pants shifted, each time he crossed and uncrossed his legs, against the silky, satin panties currently covering his cock and balls. And two: the steadily growing need pulsing in his bladder, which was begging for relief from those five punishing lattes. How he wasn’t completely bouncing off the walls yet was a mystery. But he was pretty sure the reason he wasn’t had something to do with the fact that he was so fucking turned on he was actually _afraid_ to move. 

But first, more about point number one: the panties. They were definitely delicate, and decidedly feminine, but they weren’t the sexiest pair he owned by far. They weren’t thong underwear, because, let’s be real, there’s a time and place to wear a thong, and this was not it. But they were satin, and they were a delicious, dark shade of red with just a hint of lace ghosting over the join of his hip and thigh. And they were ridiculously expensive. Too expensive to be “one time use” but well. If things this morning continued exactly how Tony had planned—and the sudden painful twinge in his bladder was a sure indicator that they would—then Tony wouldn’t be wearing these particular panties ever again. And wasn’t that an arousing thought? 

Tony shifted his weight again, squeezing his thighs together and pressing his ass firmly into his seat. If he was alone, in his workshop, he would’ve moaned out loud, too, because fuck yes the pressure on his bladder in this position was exquisite. He entertained the idea of possibly letting himself leak, just a tiny bit. He let himself imagine what that would feel like, if he released a small amount of pee, not enough to show, but enough to dampen his panties. It’d be warm and wet and make the material even softer and silkier against his skin and that would be really, really _nice_. 

Tony bit off a groan before it could become audible, squirming further into his seat. Fuck he wanted—he wanted but he knew it was a bad idea because it was too soon, or possibly too late, and if he started down that road now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. It had been awhile since he’d played this particular game, and his control maybe wasn’t the best. He was in public, after all. The thought that there was a very real, very serious possibility that he was near enough to _wetting himself_ in a room full of investors _and_ Pepper was extremely humiliating. 

Tony loved it. 

He kept his hands flat atop the conference table, fingers splayed, the tips digging imperceptibly into the surface every few minutes when his bladder spasmed without warning. And here was the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of his kinky sundae: the conference table had a glass top. A completely see-through, crystal-clear glass top. Which meant that anyone who looked Tony’s way could, if they turned their eyes down, see right through the table to Tony’s lap. There was no way any major movement down there wouldn’t go unnoticed. So even if he wanted to—and he was beginning to think he really did want to—there was no way he could grab his crotch without attracting attention. There was no way he could massage the tension in his thighs or gently rub his dick through his pants. There was no way he could use his hands to shield people from noticing the inevitable wet spot that was going to be visible very, very soon. 

In fact, his bladder spasmed and his dick twitched again at the very thought of a wet spot forming. He could picture it so clearly—the dampness darkening his trousers and spreading, slowly at first, just the size of a dime to start, and then growing larger as more and more of his control faltered, until it was the size of a quarter, and would be completely obvious to anyone who saw it. Fucking hell, he was a pervert but he wanted, he _needed_ that. Some small, twisted, part of himself needed people to see, and to know: Tony Stark couldn’t hold his piss. Tony Stark was a child who couldn’t be bothered to use the bathroom like an adult. Instead, he’d rather wet his pants in a room full of strangers and get off on it. 

Tony Stark was fucking fucked. 

And he was beginning to sweat now. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. He didn’t think anyone noticed yet, but he was growing uncomfortably warm. His groin was getting hot and damp—not from urine. Not yet. But he was sweating in his pants, and the satin panties were beginning to cling uncomfortably to his balls. It was getting increasingly harder to keep his fidgeting under control. But at least he had his reputation as always being the most restless person in the room to hide behind right now. If these people only knew that it wasn’t boredom that was causing him to squirm and look at his watch every thirty seconds...if they only knew... 

_Shit_. 

That was definitely more than perspiration he felt just now. That was defiantly a _spurt_ of wet heat inside his panties. He covered the desperate whimper that threatened to escape him with a poorly timed cough that had the presenter at the front of the room pausing mid-sentence. Pepper turned her gorgeous head to glare viciously at Tony for the interruption. He cleared his throat apologetically and attempted what he hoped was a friendly smile for the front of the room. His brain had gone completely off-line, though. He glanced down at his watch and noted that the speaker still had eight minutes left of his time. Eight minutes to go and Tony had already begun involuntarily leaking piss! 

This was going better than Tony could have ever hoped. 

He was beginning to feel warm and slick down there in a way that had his dick taking a growing interest in the proceedings like a champ. He felt it wanting to chub up. His arousal level was pretty much off the charts now. The silky soft material of the panties stretched tight and hot across his cock was paradoxically reassuring and yet hopelessly erotic at the same time. On the one hand, the soft heat made him feel _safe_ and comforted in a weird way. On the other, the feeling was so fucking sexy—he wanted very much to get hard and jerk off right there but that was impossible. Even if he wasn’t sitting in a room full of of strangers (and Pepper!), there was no way his bladder was going to let his dick get erect any time soon. The best he could hope for would be flying at half-mast, and even that was probably too much to expect without being able to give himself a little rub. And his hands had to stay where everyone could see them. So. No touching. No squirming and drawing more attention to himself. 

Tony had to just sit still and _take it_. 

And he knew, he _knew_ that he wasn’t going to last for another eight minutes—no, six minutes now, thank god. He winced as he felt another spurt of pee trickle into his lovely panties and he tried to casually look around the room at the faces of his investors. He was a nervous wreck knowing that he was sitting here, fully clothed, in broad daylight, on the edge of completely wetting his pants. But he was also turned on knowing that he was the only one in this room who knew. No one else sitting around this table had a clue that Tony Stark, one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the world, was fucking leaking piss into his lacy girl panties like the fucking child he was. And he was definitely leaking now, not just the occasional spurt.

He was doing his best to clench every muscle in his body while his bladder bulged against his pants waist. His thighs were squeezed so tightly together he doubted you could pass a penny between them, but all his effort was still not enough. 

Four minutes to go. Four minutes and he could feel it, the urine, traveling down the length of him and dripping steadily out his slit, rubbing against his dampening panties. But they weren’t _just_ damp anymore, were they? They were _wet_. Oh god. He restlessly tapped a pen against the table top and caught a glimpse of Pepper’s shoulders rising with tension, but she kept her back turned to him, and his fucking panties were wet, wet, getting wetter. And worse— 

Tony took a chance and glanced down at his lap. He could see the promised wet spot beginning to form, and if he hadn’t been already sitting he would have surely gone weak at the knees from the sight. It was a beautiful dark patch, spreading just around the the spot where the tip of his penis was nestled to the right of his fly. There was absolutely no going back now, no way to get out of this situation. If he were to stand up now _everyone would know_. Everyone would see how dirty, filthy, kinky he was. Standing up right now, he wouldn’t be able to hold anything back. If he stood up right now the damp spot would grow and grow and the trickle would turn to the stream and he would be full-on pissing himself in front of all of these people. He would be publicly humiliated. He would never be able to live it down. There were sex scandals and booze scandals and all manner of filthy-rich eccentricities for the tabloids to revel in over the years. Scandals came and went but nothing ever really stuck to Tony Stark. But this. _This_ would be the one thing he’d never be able to escape. 

Oh my god, what if he stood and someone took a picture? What if he stood up right now and someone took a video, because the internet is forever, and there he would be, immortalized, standing at the head of a conference table, in a thousand dollar suit, piss streaming down his legs, darkening the fabric, pooling in his socks, while tears of shame wet his face? He would become a goddamn twenty-first century meme. And they didn’t even know about the panties because they _couldn’t fucking see them_. 

Jesus Christ, Tony needed to touch himself. He was practically vibrating with the need to lay his fingers on the wet spot, to feel the wetness spreading, to rub his cock against the steadily growing mess. Most of all, he wanted to watch himself ruin his pretty little red panties. 

He blatantly looked at his watch now. Less than two minutes. He could do this. He could make it to the end of the meeting and then he could make it to his en-suite bathroom, and then he could pee in earnest. Just another couple of minutes and then he could let go. 

But then Tony was startled by the sudden sharp sound of clapping, and he couldn’t help the increased burst of piss that happened as a result. His eyes snapped to the front of the room where Pepper was leading everyone in a round of applause and glowering at Tony meaningfully. Shit. Fuck. He was peeing his pants and he had to clap. 

Men and woman began to gather up their things and line up at the door to shake hands with Pepper. They seemed to move agonizingly slow to Tony who had managed a miraculous stemming of his stream by sheer Stark willpower alone. The brief reprieve wasn’t enough of course—there was no way on earth he could see people off like this. So he buried his head in the folder in front of him, tap-tap-tapping his pen against the glass and silently begging whatever gods were listening to end his suffering. 

“Tony.” Pepper said softly. 

He jerked his head up and was shocked to see that he was alone in the room with Pepper. She was standing near the door, studying his face intently. “Pep,” he squeaked out embarrassingly. 

“Why don’t you go rest in your office? I’ll have lunch sent up shortly, alright?” 

Tony didn’t trust himself to speak. He averted his eyes and nodded. 

“Tony,” she said more forcefully this time. He made himself meet her eyes. “You did good this morning, Tony. I just wanted to say that. I’m proud of you.” 

Tony could feel the blush spreading across his checks at her gentle praise. Thankfully she didn’t wait for him to respond before slipping out of the room. He let out the longest audible sigh, half moan, half whimper. He looked down at his lap and could see that the wet spot was no longer just a spot. The fabric was soaked all over his crotch and he could feel the wetness running over his balls, inside his panties, and it was becoming a mess but it felt so good. So good. He almost wanted to just relax and finish it right there in his chair. He wanted that relief so badly he was almost willing to sit there in puddles of his own piss, soaking himself and then letting someone else deal with the clean-up. 

But that wasn’t the plan. All he had to do now was cross the length of the boardroom to his adjoining office, which had his own private bathroom, and then he’d be home free. Standing up was the first hurdle, and he did it with aplomb. It was painful, and pee was leaking out of his dick in a steady stream once again, but that was ok. Now that he was alone, he could _really_ enjoy the sensation. He took a few tentative steps toward his office, each footfall seeming to produce more and more urine. Tony moaned shamelessly. 

Suddenly, he remembered that he could touch himself now if he wanted, and fuck yeah he wanted. His hands shot immediately to his groin and he wrapped his fingers tightly around his cock, through his pants, and he kept them there without easing up on his grip all the way across the room. Once he was inside of his office Tony collapsed against the closed door, locking it behind himself with his free hand, while his other hand fumbled with his zipper. Getting into the bathroom was a blur. By the time he reached the connected room he was pissing freely. His pants were becoming soaked. 

He somehow managed to kick them off once inside, and he whimpered when he caught sight of his panties. _They were so fucking wet_ but he knew he still had so much piss inside of him. Five fucking lattes, after all. So, Tony didn’t waste any time. He clambered with what little grace he could muster into the tiny shower, and then he breathed a sigh of relief. Leaning against the shower wall, he finally, finally let go. 

Fucking heaven, that’s what it was. He was peeing, and peeing, and peeing. His precious panties were completely ruined. He looked down and watched as the fabric became absolutely drenched. His piss was hot and hard, spilling through the fabric and running in rivulets down his bare leg. He whimpered and shifted his weight. His knees wanted to buckle and give out from the sheer relief of it all. Tony kept on pissing in his panties for what was probably a good two more minutes before he finally began to slow down. There was a large puddle of urine pooled at his feet and it looked inviting. 

Tony slid down against the tiled wall until he was sitting on the shower floor, sitting in his own puddle of piss. It was still warm and it soaked into his panties, creeping into his ass cheeks and cradling his balls. Everything was warm and wet and good, and after just a few seconds of sitting, reveling in the sensations, he was fully hard. He was dizzy with want. He didn’t waste any time. 

Tony shoved a hand inside his panties and wrapped his fingers around his cock. He griped himself tightly and began stroking long and firm from root to tip. He closed his eyes and remembered. He remembered what it felt like in the meeting, with his bladder full to bursting and the pee leaking out of him slowly, in painful, embarrassing spurts. He remembered that first surprising wetness, how warm and good it had felt. He remembered wanting to touch himself and not being able to, and how much he’d wanted to stand up and show everyone. How much he’d wanted everyone to know what a horrible little brat he was. Fuck. 

Tony imagined it the way he’d really wanted it to happen; as he continued to masturbate, he pictured himself standing up in the meeting. He pictured everyone’s heads turning to look at him in unison; Pepper’s eyes going wide and concerned once she caught sight of his trousers. He pictured himself standing there, with his head thrown back, and his eyes closed, and the front of his pants darkening with pee. He pictured himself whining and holding himself, twisting in place while everyone watched him wet himself. In his mind he could hear the sound of his piss dripping out of his pant leg and hitting the carpet. He could hear the muffled exclamations of the investors, horrified at the sight of him but unable to look away. In his imagination, he’d stood and moaned and pissed himself and when it was all over, he’d heard Pepper’s voice, soft and sweet, and calm, saying _“You did good. I’m so proud of you, baby.”_

Tony came like rocket in his piss-soaked panties. 

He threw his head back against the wall, hard, and he milked himself through his orgasm, shaking with relief. Boneless and blissed out, sitting in his own mess, covered in come, he felt floaty and free. 

Tony reached down and ran his fingers lovingly over the front of his now-drenched and sticky panties. They were still silky and soft though, and his flaccid cock was still nestled protectively inside of them. He gently, very gently palmed his limp dick and cupped his balls through the satin material. He closed his eyes and sighed. So pretty. So ruined. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d _indulged_ like this. It had been way too long. 

And through the hazy fog of endorphins, as he rested in the shower, lazily tracing patterns over his delicate panties, not wanting the sweet feelings to end, he knew that he had to make a promise to himself to do this again soon. 

Very, very soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction. In no way, shape, or form do I hold the rights to these characters. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Listen, I don’t want to know what you were doing while you read this, ok?
> 
> ————
> 
> Also, THIS IS IMPORTANT: I am currently taking pee-related prompts for basically any Marvel character. If you have an idea/kink that you’d like to see in glowing prose (it’s glowing because your tiny little screen is really fucking bright in that dark room you're holed up in) please leave me a comment. Best part? Comments are moderated—which means I’m going to read them but no one else will if you don’t want them to. So you can be totally honest with me about what you want to see written, and I’m not going to share your secret with anyone else! (I might not write your prompt, because it might not be my thing, but there’s no harm in asking.) EXTRA IMPORTANT: if you leave a prompt and do *not* want me to publish it, then please tag your comment at the end with #anon and I will keep it private. If you do not include the tag I will assume you’re totally cool with your comment being published and left open for piss-related discussion. >.>
> 
> Damn, that was a lot. I need to go hydrate or something...


End file.
